


Eyelevel

by SailorFish



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up, spoilers for the whole series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22218400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: "He’s sosmall. He is not Kratos’ first child, the size should not be such a shock, and yet it is."--Ten scenes as Atreus grows up, from the perspective of his concerned father.
Relationships: Atreus & Kratos (God of War), Faye/Kratos (God of War), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 268





	Eyelevel

**Author's Note:**

> I got my very first console for Christmas, and promptly became obsessed with God of War (2019)! I haven't played any of the older games - all my knowledge comes from Youtube and the wiki, so apologies for any mistakes.

1.

He’s so _small_. He is not Kratos’ first child, the size should not be such a shock, and yet it is. Maybe it’s because Faye is taller than him, if only by a hand-width. He’d never met a human woman he’s had to look _up_ at before. (Only goddesses.) 

Faye laughs at him.

“Did you expect him to come out even bigger than me?” she teases.

“That would be nonsense,” Kratos replies, but maybe a part of him did.

This child is so small he could carry him in just one palm - though he doesn’t, because he remembers that you’re supposed to support the head.

Faye laughs at him some more.

But it’s not unkind laughter. And she doesn’t laugh at all when she catches him in the middle of the night, looming over their child’s - _Atreus’_ \- cot to check if he’s still breathing.

In Sparta they would have laughed until they cried. It is more or less acceptable to fret needlessly over your first child, provided you do it quietly. (And provided the child is actually healthy; more than one soldier in his garrison gave Kratos a wide berth for fighting so hard to help his sick one, in case insanity was catching.) By the second, you are supposed to realise that a healthy babe will continue to breathe even when you aren’t watching them do so.

But here, in their little kingdom of three, the only rules are the ones they make. It is alright for Faye to weep and wish her mother were still alive when Atreus refuses to latch; it is alright for Kratos to wake in the middle of the night and keep watch over his cot until morning.

Atreus is small now, but his parents would do anything to make sure he grows bigger.

2.

Atreus stays small, and sickly. And breakable.

Kratos killed Ares, but maybe this is one final curse of Ares from beyond death.

He tries to avoid being alone with his small, breakable child.

3.

It is not good for a boy to be so alone. Kratos recognises that, though he has no idea how to fix it. Atreus is seven already: the age he would have entered an agelai in Sparta, like his father had. Kratos has seen much of the world since then. He is no longer as convinced that the Spartan way is the only way to raise a strong warrior. But an agelai would have given Atreus much that Kratos cannot give him.

A chance to prove his strength and mettle to others. A chance to learn of loyalty beyond the personal loyalty to mother and father. A chance for companionship with those his age.

(Kratos is less sure whether this is as crucial for girls as for boys. He thinks at least in some ways it must be: Faye speaks fondly of the shield-maidens she’d hunted draugr with; the community that Spartan women form was impenetrable to Kratos but tightly-knit.)

There are few human villages near their little home - purposefully so. They go in for market day sometimes and Atreus stares at the other children wide-eyed. They do not stay long enough for him to learn the rules of their little games.

The games Kratos remembers mostly involved competition: mock battles and sometimes not so mock. Faye suggests they could still play, but it is simply impossible for Atreus to compete with his father the way Kratos had competed with his agemates. He is _(too small)_ far too young to win against a seasoned warrior. But he is also too clever not to see that he wins only if Kratos throws the game, and too proud to be content with that.

Kratos is pleased both by the cleverness and the pride. But the only path left then is for his son to wage a fruitless battle against his father, to lose again and again and again. Kratos was a son once; he’s been forced to play that game before. He refuses to let Atreus play too.

Instead, he tries to invent new games for them, games that will make his child strong but not involve taking part in something unwinnable.

_Get on my shoulders, boy, and we will climb to the top of that ridge. Do not fall._

_Here, step on my palms and I will boost you up the tree, boy. How far can you reach?_

_Boy, it is not that far too jump down. I will catch you._

This does not solve the problem of companionship. But each time, they climb a little further. Atreus seems happy with that.

4.

Kratos is happy too when, four years later, there is one thing he does not need to worry about. 

He sleeps little - though more once Mimir starts taking watch shifts - and when he sleeps, he dreams mostly of all the ways he may fail. There are draugr in the woods and gods in the skies; his dreams are a litany of horrors.

Sometimes he sees a little girl instead of a little boy.

His greatest wish is the one that is impossible to fulfil: to know for certain whether Faye meant for all this. Is she pleased with how much closer they have become, now that Kratos has no choice but to be alone with their easily breakable child? Or is she raging and screaming at him from Valhalla to take their baby home? (He cannot imagine her in Hel. She fought so hard against the fever.)

The one nightmare that doesn’t come is of Atreus falling. His sleeping mind can taunt him with much, but it must be believable to have effect. Kratos can sooner imagine the wolves eating the sun and moon than Atreus falling from his back. It is a relief.

And it’s damn useful to feel no second of hesitation when he must send Atreus up a narrow, rickety passageway to decipher runes.

5.

Of course, the first mission Atreus plans for them when they return from Jötunheim to Midgard is to teach his father how to read.

“It’ll be useful!” the boy enthuses. “And fun! Plus, in return you can teach me how to read _your_ writing.” He hesitates a split-second, then adds, “And we could visit home for a bit.”

Immediately, Kratos starts to check him over, eyes sharp.

“Are you well?” he asks gruffly.

“Huh? Of course!” The boy straightens up as tall as he can go. (It is taller than it used to be.) He is like an eager hunting dog, like a taut bow.

There is no sign of coughing. Kratos tilts his head. What else could it be? This is the first time Atreus has ever suggested they go home and not on some other reckless, unnecessary adventure. 

The boy realises it as well.

“I just thought it’d be… nice to have a little break,” he mumbles, looking down. “We’ve seen so much! My head feels like it’s about to burst.”

 _Ah_. That, Kratos can understand. When he first came to Midgard, he felt much the same. Everything was so _new_. Sights, sounds - even the sea smelled different. And that was just one world; Atreus has suddenly been thrust into many. Slowly, Kratos nods.

“Then we will take a break,” he says. “And it can be my head that almost bursts.”

Atreus shoots him a startled glance. Though Kratos keeps his expression solemn, the boy’s face cracks into a wide grin.

“You made a joke! You want me to teach you! This is going to be so great, I promise.”

Kratos is less certain of that.

His misgivings are proven right too. The boy is too enthusiastic a teacher.

“Right, Jera… Well, I guess we don’t need Jera much, there’s not going to be a harvest for years. Raido, that one’s important - it means journey. No, wait, you should still learn Jera though.”

“Slow down, boy,” Kratos reminds him.

Atreus nods sheepishly with a, “Right, sorry,” but it lasts only until the next rune.

Eventually, Kratos does manage to learn them all: Jera, Raido, and the rest. But it is only because he turns to the head for help when Atreus is asleep.

“Never took you for such a keen student, brother,” Mimir chuckles, as they both pretend Kratos has some hidden love for letters and not just a desire for Atreus to succeed in all his labours.

The teaching of the Greek alphabet is similarly disastrous: in this case, it is the student who is too eager. Kratos hasn’t written his mother tongue in years. He could never forget the omega, but he doesn’t quite recall when it's proper to use the omicron instead. It is hard to think while Atreus peppers him with questions and the charcoal-drawn symbol feels warm underneath his fingers.

He tries not to bark, “ _I_ _don’t know!!_ ” He tries to picture Faye patiently teaching their son to read when he was too much of a coward to come in from the woods. He tries to take deep breaths and remind himself the charcoal burned its last long ago.

He suspects they are both relieved when Atreus grows fed-up of being indoors and pleads for another adventure. They are halfway through the alphabet only. _Another time,_ Kratos silently promises Faye, and hastily grabs her axe.

6.

“You know… when you were courting mother, what sort of things did you say to her?”

Kratos chokes on his ale. Mimir howls with laughter.

Atreus continues to eat his dinner.

But his chewing is just a little _too_ determined and there is a hint of red staining his cheeks. This is no idle curiosity about his beloved mother. The boy is not as subtle as he thinks.

Is he that old already? Kratos calculates it, his mind racing - it is hard to keep track of the days when the world is always winter. Atreus must be fourteen now. In Sparta, men could only marry at twice that age. But no matter how much Kratos would wish it otherwise, he remembers that the _feelings_ came far earlier.

Kratos drinks a long sip of ale to give himself time to think. What would Faye wish him to teach their son? When he told him the story of Daphne and Apollo, Atreus’ eyes filled with unshed tears of fury and pity. Their son understands the most important lesson already. The rest can come more slowly.

He settles, therefore, on the truth.

“I complimented her on her fine axe throwing.”

Under Mimir’s laughter, Atreus groans. 

Well, it is the boy’s fault for asking. The more formal lines of courtship that Kratos half remembers are tied too tightly to the goddess Aphrodite. Laughter-loving Aphrodite, gravedigger Aphrodite. Kratos never saw her corpse; even in Midgard, Atreus should not call on her.

And Faye's axe throwing had truly been excellent.

Whether his son ignores his words or follows them, next week there are suddenly four of them at dinner: Kratos, Atreus, Mimir, and Angrboda.

The girl is… not what Kratos expected, if he had expected anything. Angrboda is three fingers taller than Atreus, with permanently furrowed brows and a long dagger at her hip. When she encounters the talking head with glowing eyes, she does not scream. There are few humans left in this land now that the Fimbulwinter has started. Those few are tough as nails. Perhaps Atreus would have done right to complement her on her weaponry after all.

His son’s eyes are bright when he looks at her. Kratos tries to mind himself. He's struck with a sudden disquiet at the thought of her leaving the boy because of his brute of a father.

In the end, Angrboda does leave, but not because of Kratos. (Directly.)

Rather, Atreus’ silver tongue has gotten him into trouble: his compliments of Angrboda’s fighting so high and genuine, he has inspired her to finally do as she had always dreamed and become a shield-maiden. There's rumours of a woman war-band out east; Angrboda and her trusty dagger are off to find them. Angrboda's mother, a woman with her own knife, comes to tell them the news herself, and does not rage at the boy for stealing her daughter away more thoroughly than if the girl had come to live in their little hut.

Atreus tries to be happy for his beloved, but he still ends up moping around the house for months. He is lost in his first heartbreak. It is a solitary type of pain, which his father cannot help with - the type of pain that takes time.

And when summer arrives - or what is left of summer in the Fimbulwinter - Atreus’ eyes are shining again. The boy he brings home introduces himself as Svadilfari. He meets Kratos' eyes squarely despite how far up he has to look. Atreus chatters happily at the both of them. Kratos quickly learns three things about Svadilfari: he is a traveller, he has steady hands and a broad smile, he is the Achilles to Atreus’ Patroclus. 

In Sparta, such relationships were common primarily between youths and more experienced men. Svadilfari is at most a year older and despite his many journeys in Midgard, he is clearly awed by Atreus’ casual descriptions of travelling along the World Tree’s branches. Kratos likes him neither more nor less than he liked Angrboda.

Nevertheless, Atreus seems subdued the following day, as they head out together to hunt deer. For the life of him, Kratos can't remember what the humans of Midgard say about such unions. Has Svadilfari been filling the boy's head with nonsense warnings about a father's disapproval? Or is the quiet the result of some petty tiff from when he walked the other boy out?

Kratos has no wish to get involved in the latter; the thought of the former is unbearable to him. They get into the boat. Cautiously, Kratos begins to tell his son about the best of the Achaeans.

“You still don't know how to tell a story!” Atreus complains, laughing, when Kratos breaks off abruptly with Achilles still in his tent.

“It was a war, boy,” says Kratos. “War happened.”

Whether it was this or something else troubling the boy, he is grinning broadly now. One day, he will tell Atreus of how the lover of the best tried to take his place and was cut down by the gods for almost succeeding, of how Achilles went mad with grief and leapt into death soon after. Right now, their tragedy would sound like a warning and Kratos does not mean it as such. (And the boys will have tragedy soon enough themselves, when Svadilfari the Traveler travels on.)

“At least you don't have daughters!” Mimir cackles later, when Atreus is off fishing - or rather, visiting his Svadilfari with the weak excuse of fishing.

It is a joke. Kratos realises it is a joke.

The look on his face must be truly terrible - the head actually subsides.

“I'm sorry, brother,” Mimir says quietly. “I meant only that you're doing well by the boy.”

Kratos hopes that is so. (He hopes he would have done as well by the girl.)

7.

Abruptly, it hits him that if Faye's prophecy comes to pass, there will be no one left who knows that there was once a little girl called Calliope. That has been true for a long time, of course. But he's suddenly realised that there is somebody who'd want to.

For some peoples, Kratos has heard, a person doesn't truly die while their name is still spoken. This is no belief of either the Spartans or the Midgardians. (He doesn't know about the giants.) But though speaking Calliope’s name would not bring her back, Atreus would want to, Kratos is sure.

Whatever game the gods are playing, the deadline for Ragnarok has come and gone. Atreus is sixteen: Kratos’ son has lived twice as long as his daughter. Nobody knows if the Fimbulwinter will end tomorrow or last another forty years. It is impossible to wait until things have settled. Atreus is nearly a man and he deserves to know, and he would want to know, and Kratos _needs_ him to know.

She is his older forever-younger sister.

So it bursts out of him: “You had a sister.”

Unfortunately, the epiphany hit right in the middle of a nasty fight against a swarm of Hel-walkers. Atreus yelps and stumbles. But he’s been fighting for many years now; he pops right back up and takes out the nearest three with a smooth, practiced motion.

Only then does he yell to his father, “I have a _sister?!_ ”

“You _had_ a sister,” says Kratos. His next swing with the blades is particularly vicious. While Atreus processes that, he adds, “A half-sister.”

“...Oh,” says Atreus.

His son is nearly a man. Five years ago, the questions would have come flooding out of Atreus’ mouth like a waterfall. Now he takes his time to think things through. He still hasn’t learned to keep the emotions off his face meanwhile, however; Kratos is glad that there is something to occupy his hands with while he waits. He slams a Hel-walker into the ground.

And then another, and another, until there are no enemies left. Only silence. Atreus pads over to him quietly.

“What was her name?”

There is no anger that Kratos can hear, no hint of betrayal about how badly Kratos has lied once again. The tentative relief of it propels him to look up. Atreus, he finds, is tentative too: not _frightened_ of his father exploding or clamming up, but very aware that that is the most likely outcome. Kratos takes a deep breath.

“Calliope,” he says. And then offers in a rush, “She liked to play the flute.”

“Oh,” says Atreus again.

He mouths it to himself. _Ca-lli-o-pe_ : a name like his name and like his father’s name. Unlike his mother’s. And then, though he is nearly a man, he hugs his father tight.

8.

There comes, for every parent, a _last time_ when they hold their child: a last time when the child can still be picked up, a last time when the child still allows themselves to be hugged tight. For the latter, Kratos can admit he's sorry there will be no last time with Atreus - because there also was no first. Kratos was scared to hold his small, sickly son too close. For the former - Kratos still offers his palms out of habit. Atreus blinks, grins, and takes a running leap. With his father’s strength and his own strength, the boost is so powerful that he flies up nearly half the cliffside. Atreus’ eyes are level with Kratos’ nowadays; laughing, he climbs back down and offers his father an easy hand up.

9.

And then suddenly Atreus is _taller_ than him. Kratos has to look up at him just like he had to look up at Faye. And he’s restless too, with the kind of itchy feet that cannot be solved when a young man is attached to his parent’s hip. There is nothing more for Kratos to teach him. Like with his heartbreaks, these are lessons that must be learned personally. 

So he says, “ _Go_.”

Atreus understands his father pretty well nowadays. He doesn’t ask _go where_. His fork falls on the table with a clatter. His face is a storm: he’s torn between arguing and dashing out the door immediately. Then his mouth sets in a stubborn line. Arguing wins.

“But what about…” he trails off and waves an arm that vaguely encompasses _everything_.

“Ragnarok will come or it will not, boy,” says Kratos. “We do not live for the pleasure of the gods. If they delight in our unease, we will not show it to them.”

“Or perhaps they’re uneasy too,” mutters Mimir; he certainly has been.

“Well… alright,” says Atreus doubtfully. “But Father, that still leaves _you_. Who’s going to convince the humans to trade? Who’s going to haggle with the dwarves? Who’s going to remind you to eat? Who’s…”

His eyes are very earnest. There also comes a time, Kratos realises, when a child starts to fret about their parents as much as the parents fret about them. The predicted apocalypse is nothing compared to that.

“I’ve managed it before,” he interrupts. “I will manage it again. _Go_.” But that suddenly sounds cruel to his ears. After a moment, he says, “And then come back.”

Kratos is still not always sure when what he says are the right words. Had the boy wanted to hear _just go_ again, or had he wanted to hear _come back?_ Whichever it is, they clearly _are_ the right words. Atreus is suddenly grinning wide and relieved, and promising to return in a year or so. Kratos nods.

The next day, he helps the boy pack. (Helping his son leave is, thankfully, nothing at all like leaving his daughter.) Atreus walks out the door with a straight back.

10.

Atreus stands in the doorway, shivering. His armour is worn, but whole, and his back still straight. On his belt is a strange, curved sword; he smells of a familiar sea. He holds a small bundle in his arms.

Presently, as Kratos stares, the bundle burbles happily. It’s enough to break him out of his trance. His son is suddenly _here_ , almost two years since they've last seen each other, with a baby - clearly _his_ baby.

“Atreus, the child’s -” he bites down on _mother_ ; there are many magics in the world, “- parent?”

“Is good at many things, but not at raising children,” Atreus says.

His voice is wry, but cheerful enough. A tiny part of Kratos unwinds: he is glad his son did not suffer the second-hardest of losses alone. The rest of him is still staring.

“So I thought…” Atreus continues, and then stops.

A shadow crosses his face and he shifts his weight. Abruptly, Kratos realises that his child… along with his _grandchild_ … are still standing in the doorway. As though they are waiting for the almighty patriarch to give his blessing before they dare come in. Somewhere, Faye's foot is tapping impatiently and her hands are on her hips.

Kratos crosses the floor in two steps. He pulls Atreus into a soft, _soft_ hug. His son is no longer small, sickly, or breakable. But he’s also no longer the youngest in the room and Kratos is _always_ mindful of his strength.

Atreus lets out one long, bone-weary sigh. For a moment, he slumps into the embrace. Then the babe starts to wriggle unhappily between them and the two men have to break apart.

Atreus readjusts the child and says, half-laughing, “He’s so _small_.”

Kratos laughs back at him.

“He’ll grow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Loki had children with Angrboda, Svadilfari, and Sigyn; they play a rather large role in Ragnarok cough. It's up to you who the other parent is.


End file.
